


Bombs Away

by Peri_Menopausal



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: Action, Bomb, Family, Gen, Joan Watson Deserves Better, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 12:40:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4263606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peri_Menopausal/pseuds/Peri_Menopausal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequence of scenes inspired by the pictures an Elementary writer recently posted of various ordinance. Sherlock informs Joan that there's an explosive device somewhere in her office, which happens to be occupied by her and her mother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bombs Away

**Author's Note:**

> Transferred from script format, so please excuse any formatting issues.

INT. JOAN'S OFFICE -- DAY

A hard rain spatters against the window. MARY WATSON is there, impatiently waiting for JOAN to finish her phone call. REVEAL there’s a strange, black baseball-sized metal device under the sofa, with a one-inch tube protruding from it. It’s not dusty, but it does look decades old.

JOAN: (Into phone) Can you email me a PDF of that? (Sorry eyes to mom) Great, thanks.

Joan punches off her phone.

MARY: Do you know how hard it was to get this reservation?

JOAN: Yes, I recall you mentioning it several dozen times.

Mary does a patented Watson family eye-roll.

MARY: And how long do you think it'll take us to get a cab in this rain?

Joan shrugs on a raincoat and grabs an umbrella. Her phone dings. She glances down at it: Sherlock -- 911.

JOAN: Sorry, Mom. Just one more --

Mary heaves an exasperated sigh and throws herself onto Watson’s sofa. The metal ball rolls ever so slightly to rest just against the bottom cushion.

INT. POLICE STATION -- DAY

A hyped-up SHERLOCK is with a worried looking BELL. INTERCUT phone call with JOAN.

SHERLOCK: Watson! (trying to keep an even tone) Are you by any chance still in the basement?

JOAN: My office, you mean? Mom and I were just walking out the door.

Mary rises, crosses to the door. Sherlock winces at the mention of Mary. This just got more difficult.

SHERLOCK: Listen to me carefully.

Joan stands stock still, suddenly alert. She puts an arm on Mary, stopping her.

SHERLOCK: There may be an unstable grenade somewhere in that room.

Joan's eyes widen, but she doesn't want to alarm her mother.

JOAN: How do you know? (realizing) Part of that case we were working on earlier? The one I strongly suggested you turn over to the government? (then) How unstable?

BELL: We can't be sure. 

SHERLOCK: It's World War II era. Though it may've been modified, which means it's stable but equally or perhaps that much more dangerous.

Joan casually strolls away from Mary, her eyes scanning the room. Mary heaves another annoyed sigh and plops down again on the sofa, just missing the device underneath.

JOAN: And what exactly do you suggest I do about this?

SHERLOCK: What you're doing now, carefully searching for it without touching or moving anything.

Joan's finished her circuit of the room.

JOAN: Right. Well, there's nothing in plain sight.

BELL: The bomb squad's on the way.

Mary reads her daughter's worried look.

MARY: Is everything all right?

JOAN: (puts on a reassuring smile) I'll let you know in a minute. Until then, just ... don't move. I mean, you're fine where you are. Just relax.

SHERLOCK: I'll need you to do the same, Watson.

Joan starts peeking under the work tables closest to the back door, working her way towards where Mary sits. Mom taps her watch.

JOAN: Any idea how this ... item ... might've gotten into my office? (to Mom) Sherlock thinks he might've lost something down here.

SHERLOCK: Unclear at the moment. 

JOAN: Are you sure it was left here?

BELL: Almost positive.

Joan's looked everywhere. She realizes there's only one place left -- the sofa where her Mom sits, literally tapping her foot. The grenade rolls a little bit closer to the bottom cushion.

(TIME CUT -- BOMB SQUAD PULLS UP OUTSIDE)

INT. JOAN'S OFFICE/INT. POLICE STATION

Intercutting phone call. Joan’s frozen in place, looking at her mother on the sofa, underneath which there may be an explosive. SIRENS sound, screeching tires.

SHERLOCK: (brightly) That'll be the bomb squad, then! Excellent! (then) Have you located anything yet, Watson?

Joan slowly lowers herself to her knees in front of the sofa. Mary reads her daughter's concern without a word and freezes. They lock eyes. Joan takes a deep breath and then carefully places her hands on the floor and peers under the sofa. The grenade is there, nestled against the dip in the cushion where her beloved mom is perched.

A wave of nausea passes over Joan as she rises back to her knees.

MARY: What is it?

JOAN: I'm gonna tell you. But I need you to stay absolutely still.

Mary reacts. Joan puts Sherlock on speakerphone.

JOAN: There's some kind of grenade under the sofa. 

SHERLOCK: Mary, I assure you, everything possible is being done to remedy the situation.

Mary’s frozen, eyes wide. Joan can see a bomb squad officer in full gear coming down the stairs.

JOAN: (with relief) They're here.

She crosses to open the door, while Sherlock studies a diagram of a similar-looking device on his computer screen.

SHERLOCK: WAIT!!

Joan freezes, her hand on the doorknob.

SHERLOCK: Is it raining there?

JOAN: Pouring. You want to talk about the weather now?

SHERLOCK: No, I'm concerned that you’re below street level, and if you open the door or the window, the resulting change in barometric pressure could…

Mary begins to tremble, Joan turns away from the door and moves back to her. BELL is on the radio, relaying the info to the bomb squad member, who backs carefully up the stairs.

BELL: I'm going out there.

He exits.

JOAN: Mom, don't worry. Sherlock's an expert in defusing bombs. I've seen him do it.

SHERLOCK: Indeed.

MARY: You've been in the same room as an active bomb before?

Joan shrugs sheepishly. Sherlock squints his eyes at the diagram on his computer screen.

SHERLOCK: Several times, actually. (then) Just realizing that this particular grenade is not armed with a pin. Which makes it a little more delicate of an operation than normal. (Forced positivity) No matter! I'm quite certain you can render it inert, Watson. 

JOAN: Come again?

SHERLOCK: Former surgeon. Steady hands and all.

Joan punches the phone off speaker, wheels to whisper into it.

JOAN: Did you forget that these steady hands nicked a patient's vena cava and he bled to death?

SHERLOCK: I'm going to talk you through it. Put me back on speaker, and send me a picture of the device from Mary's phone.

As Joan follows orders...

SHERLOCK: Now, Mary, I have every confidence in your daughter. I've seen her succeed in much more dangerous situations than this.

MARY: (to Joan) If we somehow manage to make it through this in one piece, you and I are going to have another serious conversation about this career choice.

SHERLOCK: Got the photo. It's not a perfect match, but it should suffice. Find a pencil, please, Watson.

Joan grabs a pen from her desk.

SHERLOCK: A pencil, not a pen. You're not going to be taking notes.

How did he know? She shakes her head, finds a No. 2.

SHERLOCK: The device looks to be slightly larger than the diagram. (Joan and Mary trade worried looks) That’s good news, ladies. It will hopefully be more sturdy and less prone to accidental explosion. Watson, use the pencil to ever so slightly nudge it away from the bottom of the cushion. Steady, Mary.

Joan grabs her Mom’s hand and peers under the sofa. She takes a deep breath and uses the pencil to carefully inch the grenade to the side.

JOAN: Okay, it's not touching anything now.

SHERLOCK: Brilliant! Mary, please slowly and carefully stand.

Joan also stands and offers both her hands to her mother. Mary grabs them and begins to rise.

JOAN: Slowly!

Mary freezes, almost falls back, but Joan steadies her. She makes it to her feet. Mom and daughter take a relieved breath, and hug one another tightly. Joan leads her over to the bottom of the stairs, helps her sit.

JOAN: We've got to take a chance and open the door. I can't have her in here.

MARY: I'm not leaving without you.

SHERLOCK: I'm afraid I wouldn't want to risk it.

Joan looks over in the corner and sees an old futon. She drags it over stands it up as a barrier near her mom, and then sees an old bike helmet. She grabs that and fixes it on Mary’s head. She smiles reassuringly at Mary.

JOAN: What now, Sherlock?

SHERLOCK: Do you think you can inch the device the rest of the way out from under the settee?

Joan crosses back. She reaches under the sofa again, but notices her hand is trembling. She pulls it back out and shakes it.

MARY: You can do this, Joanie.

Joan picks up another pencil and goes back to the sofa. This time, her hands are steady as she puts a pencil on each side of the grenade for support and carefully ... carefully ... nudges it along, until she realizes she’ll have to leave it to move to the back side of the sofa.

She releases the pencils and the grenade rolls ever so slightly. She squeezes her eyes shut in anticipation of an explosion, breath held. It finally comes to a rest.

She stands and makes her way to the opposite side of the sofa.

JOAN: Mom, hold that cushion against you and over your head. I mean it!

Mary does as she's told. Sherlock taps his own pencil nervously against the desk as Joan lies flat on her stomach, and uses her prior technique to slide the grenade towards her.

It’s out. It looks even more ominous up close.

JOAN: It's solid. No openings whatsoever. No welds or screws.

Sherlock frowns, that’s not good. Without having to be told, Joan sniffs the metal ball.

JOAN: No scent of gunpowder or plastic explosive. Maybe a hint of, I don't know, like motor oil? 

Sherlock sighs. Not what he was hoping for.

JOAN: There's no way to tell if it's active, is there?

SHERLOCK: No.

She sighs and sits up. BOOM! The vibration of her movement causes it to explode, sending Joan’s body flying like a rag doll backwards into the bookcases, which crash down on top of her. MARY screams. Joan’s bloody hand extends from the smoking rubble.

Sherlock shakes his head, clearing his imagination of that horrific scene.

SHERLOCK: Can you touch it? Gently!

Joan rolls her eyes, as if she would proceed any other way. She places her index finger ever so lightly on the grenade.

JOAN: It's metal. Feels solid. Room temperature.

She carefully backs off.

SHERLOCK: I believe you’re going to have to pick it up to dispose of it.

JOAN: I was afraid you were going to say that. So the idea is, what? For me to throw it through the window?

SHERLOCK: Precisely. Without a means to access the interior of the device, that does seem to be the most prudent course of action. Though I believe there is a welder’s torch down there that might let us peek inside …

JOAN: Yeah, no. Not happening.

She does glance over to the worktable though, and sees the torch, plus a welder's mask. She crosses and grabs it, takes it over to Mom, who shakes her head.

MARY: No, I'll be fine over here. You use it.

Joan nods, and they hug once more, tightly. Joan crosses back over to the device and swings her arm around, loosening her shoulder.

MARY: I wish I'd let you play Little League like you wanted.

Joan can't help but laugh.

SHERLOCK: Smoothly, all in one motion. Grab, lift and throw. Overhand. Like one of your beloved Metropolitans.

A moment. They both realize that this could be the last time they speak to each other.

SHERLOCK: Watson, I ...

WATSON: Me too.

She puts down the phone and puts the welder’s mask over her head. She sets her feet and crouches to grab the orb. It’s heavier than she imagined, more like a shotput, as she reaches her arm back and throws it as hard as she can through the window. It shatters the glass and lands with a clunk outside. And then, nothing happens.

A beat. Another. Joan takes the mask off, she and Mary trade relieved looks and then --

JOAN: It was a decoy. Or a dud.

Sherlock lets out a breath. Joan hears the bomb squad yelling and gearing up outside. She crosses to the door to let them in. Sherlock's phone dings. He glances down at it, sees... "Please pass on my best wishes for a speedy recovery. M."

SHERLOCK: (realizing) Watson?

But Joan's already pulling open the door. There's a click and--

BOOM! The force of the blast blows the heavy door off its hinges, providing Joan with a shield against the brick, debris and shattering glass, as it crashes to the floor on top of her. An untouched Mary screams.

END ACT

INT. HOSPITAL ER -- DAY

Joan is sitting up on a gurney, right wrist and arm in a cast up to her mid-bicep, poking out of a sling. She’s soot-stained, scratched up and pissed. Mary and Sherlock are there.

JOAN: I keep telling you, I'm fine.

SHERLOCK: Yes, well, despite your obvious hardheadedness, the golf ball-sized knot on the back of your skull suggests otherwise.

JOAN: The MRI was negative.

MARY: I'm going to see about that.

She exits.

SHERLOCK: That door was supposed to be blast-proof.

JOAN: It was. If it wasn't, I'd be dead.

SHERLOCK: Moriarty knew that. That’s why she sent get-well wishes instead of condolences. She rigged it with just enough explosives to blow the entryway, not bring the building down.

JOAN: And she figured that once I saw the dummy device, I’d run right for that door. (A beat) That bitch.

SHERLOCK: I'm inclined to agree with you on both points.

Mary returns.

MARY: The scan was clear, but they're keeping you overnight.

JOAN: Thanks, but I'm not staying. (Off their looks) You heard it. The MRI's okay, my elbow's been set. I'm signing myself out AMA if I have to.

MARY: Honey, at least stay the night.

Joan glances to Sherlock for support. 

SHERLOCK: She does have a point, Watson. Possible head injuries are not to be taken lightly.

She shoots him a deadly look as she hops off the gurney, trying to hide her stiffness and soreness. She grabs onto the wall as she slides her feet into her boots.

JOAN: Do I sound like I have a concussion to you? (realizes) You just want me out of the brownstone so you can go off after her.

SHERLOCK: (caught) I resent that implication!

JOAN: Resent away. I'll be right by your side should I start showing symptoms. (look to Mary) Besides, I want to get her worse than you do. 

The curtain screeches as she flings it back and exits.


End file.
